Chapter Text
It was meant to be a joke, when he tossed the paper onto the table and draped himself dramatically over the chaise lounge.
"I'm moving to Romania."
He is at Pansy and Blaise's ancestral home (they'd purchased it together last year, but added a large, bronze 'family tree' to the backyard which sang ominously when there was wind) because tonight is the biweekly poker night with the remaining Slytherin crew - Pansy and Blaise of course, as it is their home, and Greg Goyle, who is Draco's favourite friend.
Blaise and Pansy had gotten married a couple of years after the war out of convenience and rebellion more than anything else. Their parents had been arranging marriages, so they'd eloped with a fair amount of 'borrowed' gold from their family vaults.
Fortunately, their parents had been reasonably alright with the union, and are now pestering for a child. Pansy told them she’d promised it to a sorceress in exchange for eternal youth. They were not pleased at that.
Greg had married Astoria Greengrass, but she's not a poker player, and therefore declines the standing invitation. Draco rather likes her anyway.
He's the last in the group to be single, though the Zabinis share a casual open marriage which Draco has taken advantage of on more than one occasion.
"Why on earth would you move to Romania?" Greg asks in surprise.
"Look at the- that's why I put down the blasted article, Greg." Draco complains, nudging it toward his friend.
"Healer position? You have a healer position." Blaise reads off the front as Greg flips through the rest of the pages.
“I don’t like my position though.” Draco says.
“What’s to say you’d like this one in Romania?” Pansy asks.
“I have an idea, and he’s on page four.” Greg grins at Draco, who scowls. He had considered leaving that page at home, but it took away the weight of the paper as a whole, which meant tossing it onto the table was less dramatic.
“ He? ” Pansy asks with a ferocious grin. She snatches up the page from Greg, reading it. “ Harry Potter, renowned wizard and former auror, has been spotted on the dragon reservation in Romania with one Charlie Weasley, known dragon tamer. Could the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice be pursuing a career working with a new sort of vicious creature? Why, Draco, you’re chasing after Potter again?”
“I am not! I hadn’t even read that part!” Draco lies, knowing full well his fellow Slytherins can spot dishonesty like a Gryffindor finds danger.
“Right.” Blaise nods with a smile.
“I’m not! I hate my job, you know that. I want something different.” Draco says.
“I believe you, Draco. I think maybe it’s just a bit of a bonus, the opportunity to er... heal Potter while you’re there.” Greg says with a shrug. This is why he’s Draco’s favourite. Not the heavy-handed insinuation, just the easy acceptance and support.
“I think you’re making decisions with your prick, and I will not stand for that.” Pansy huffs.
“Do what you want. I’m sure there’s a floo there somewhere and you can pop back home if you hate it.” Blaise says.
“Exactly! If I hate it even more, which I doubt, I can always leave. Look for something else.” Draco says.
“What’s to say they’d even hire you to begin with? Surely there are other healers applying for the position.” Pansy argues.
“You know Draco’s the best healer at St. Mungo’s. He’s got that Dark Arts knowledge no one else has.” Greg says, Summoning drinks for everyone. Greg doesn’t love conflict or argument, and tries to keep things calm when they start heating up.
“ I know that, we know that, but that doesn’t mean anything.” Pansy says.
She’s right, though. Draco is still under heavy surveillance despite never having lost a patient in his four years as a full time healer. He’s saved people deemed already dead, and even that hadn’t changed peoples’ opinion of him.
“I’m going to get the job.” Draco says with a frown. “I will. ”
“Well, that settles it, then.” Blaise says, accepting the liquor from Greg. Draco sits forward, staring at the Zabinis.
"It's been six, nearly seven years since everything and I'm still shadowed for the entirety of every shift. I have the best record of any living healer, and it’s still not enough. They'll never trust me to work on my own." Draco points out. “I can’t work there anymore. I’ll get the job in Romania because I have to.”
“Calm down, Draco. You’ll get it.” Greg says, patting Draco’s leg. “Astoria can talk to Daphne to get you a good recommendation. She’s a board member at the hospital, you’ll be the best choice.”
Again, this is why Greg is Draco’s favourite.
"Thanks, Greg.” He smiles, relaxing back against the chaise. “This is good. It’ll be good, right? Dragon tamers don't give a shit. They're not afraid of the damned dragons, why would they be wary of me?”
Pansy shrugs, downing a shot of whatever Greg gave her.
“You’ve got a point.” She shrugs. Draco smiles, looking at Blaise.
“I already told you, mate. If you hate it, you can always just leave.”
Draco lifts a glass of brandy to toast.
“To Romania, then!”
Draco got the job.
Not only that, he found a lovely little home just south of the reserve, and is already working on sending in a renovation crew to clean up.
Draco opens up the paper again, looking at the moving photo of Potter.
He hadn’t seen the man in years, and even that was a photo in the paper of Potter caught in an alley outside the Three Broomsticks snogging a man. Draco had certainly not kept that photo stashed in the bottom drawer of his bedside table.
Even then, Potter still looked young, had the boyish cheeks and slight frame of someone who had just recently started eating properly again.
This Potter, the one chopping wood near a fence with strong, sure swings… This is Harry Potter, the man.
And Draco intends to climb him like a tree.
Potter is taller now, more broad. Draco wonders if he still has the height advantage, as he’s just over six feet now, and Potter was never particularly tall. His skin is tanned and scarred more than before, and the vest he’s wearing doesn’t hide his bulging biceps. Merlin, Draco wants to lick them.
And his arse.
Draco suddenly drops the paper, staring into the closest mirror in realisation.
He floos straight into Pansy’s bedroom, and she squeals, jumping back as he steps out.
“Oh, it’s you. Draco, you’re going to give me grey hair.” She complains.
“Good morning, I have a problem and I'm making it your problem too.” Draco says, throwing himself onto her bed. She puts on a dressing gown and stares at him until he speaks. “I’m not fit enough to go to Romania.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“I lied, okay? I want him, I want him so much, Pans, and there’s no way I can catch his notice looking like this.” Draco laments, gesturing to himself.
“Alright, for the record, exactly no one believed you when you said seeing him isn’t one of the reasons you’re going. Secondly, you’re in great shape, and I’ve seen your cock, it’s good.” Pansy says easily.
Draco groans.
“You saw him! He looks like he could break me in half with one hand, and I get winded going up stairs!”
Pansy huffs, sitting down on the bed.
“Are you finally surrendering yourself to my control?” She asks, a teasing note to her voice almost hiding the sadistic streak that still scares Draco. He squeezes his eyes shut. He will regret this. But he’ll regret it more if he doesn’t.
“Yes.” He whispers.
She jumps up, clapping her hands.
“Lovely! Alright, have you eaten? Course not, you never eat in the mornings, come with me, we’ll get you in proper shape to go be shagged by sodding Potter of all men. Let’s go!”
She drags him about all morning, demanding he eat a frankly disgusting combination of foods (he’s a Slytherin through and through, and it was far too much green), strip down to his pants and be measured and prodded and finally join her in the room he’d always avoided in her house: the exercise room.
“Pert arse, toned legs and strong shoulders, coming up!” She announces, pushing him inside.
Draco groans again, dreading this part more than the rest. He despises exercise. It's gross and tiring and sweaty. There are many other gross, tiring and sweaty activities he'd much rather spend his energy on.
But Pansy, with not much else to do, loves it. Blaise often joins her, but no amount of sexual favours have ever coaxed Draco into it.
She has him doing squats, push ups, strange hip-thrusting things that make him feel ridiculous. Each exercise makes his muscles burn worse than the last, and his entire body is trembling with exhaustion by the end.
Taking pity on him, Pansy sits beside him, stretching and bugging him to copy.
“How long till you leave?”
“Ugh. Nine days. The house will be ready then.” Draco says, flopping backward.
“You should have come to me far sooner, but we’ll make do.” She says airily. “Come over this time every morning and you’ll be in tip top shagging shape.” She winks.
Draco closes his eyes, imagining that photo of Potter swinging an ax so easily, and reminds himself of his goal.
“Every morning.” Draco agrees.
Draco despises the following eight mornings, and Pansy by extension.
“Come on, Draco, up! ” She shouts, and Draco screams, pulling himself off the ground and eye-level with the bar.
“I hate you!”
“Fuck you!” She yells back with a grin.
Draco drops to the ground.
“Fuck you, and that was the last one, I refuse to do anything more!”
“You have to stretch before you leave or you’ll get cramps.” Pansy reminds him, and Draco grumbles as he lowers himself to sit on the floor. “You’ve come quite a long way.”
“No thanks to you.” He grunts.
“ All thanks to me, you ungrateful berk.” Pansy huffs. “And out of the goodness of my own heart, too.”
Draco laughs then. As much as she pretends otherwise, Pansy is extremely loyal and would do anything for the people she deems worthy of her time.
“You’re just glad to have a workout partner you can yell at.” Draco says, and Pansy laughs, but doesn’t deny it.
“Are you excited to go?” She asks.
“Yeah. I’m… I’m nervous, a bit. But I’m looking forward to it. Maybe now they’ll finally realise how much I did at St. Mungo’s and come crawling to Romania begging for me to come back.” Draco says, then huffs. That’s somehow less likely than Potter declaring his undying love for him.
“Fuck them. Fuck anyone who thinks you’re anything less than the best living healer around.” Pansy says fiercely, and Draco smiles.
“Thanks, Pans.”
Draco sets down his wand on the table by the door.
The project leader of the repair crew had stayed behind to give him the keys, but Draco is alone now.
He wanders about the small house - only five rooms, Merlin have mercy!
The sitting room is exactly as he expected, though a tad cleaner. He’d sent some furniture already, neutral colours and clean lines. The paintings on the walls had come with the house - a sailboat on a stormy sea, a lighthouse nearly hidden by clouds, and a peaceful beach.
The windows are large and let in plenty of light, even through the pale green sheer curtains. The floor is a light, pale oak with a dull shine, and Draco’s shoes click against it as he walks.
The kitchen is - well, it's a kitchen.
The cabinets are the same pale green as the curtains, and the same flooring carried throughout the hallways, but Draco didn’t spend much time on that room, as he isn’t particularly sure what's meant to go in a kitchen to begin with. He knows lunches will be provided at work, and the others he'll figure out as he goes.
The study is gorgeous, already filled with the books he’d sent sorted into their familiar categories - dark magic, curses, hexes, jinxes, illnesses, diseases, fiction and history. The glass desk has a variety of his writing supplies and letterhead, along with a vase of dried flowers he doesn’t recognise, but very much appreciates. The corner by the window has a velvet, chocolate coloured chaise lounge and a short table beside it.
The bathroom is small, but has a lovely clawfoot tub and a high window above the shower letting in sunlight. Draco looks forward to a good long soak after work.
He ends his tour in the bedroom, smiling widely and clasping his hands together like a child seeing a gift Christmas morning.
Airy, pale green curtains hang from the ceiling and surround the four poster bed, which is made up with a light grey duvet and luxurious pillows. The window has a bench beneath it and heavier drapes that will block out the morning light. The floor is different in here, a dark grey carpet that he can’t resist the urge to run his fingers through. There’s even a small fireplace in the corner crackling merrily.
It’s so very cosy that Draco wants to curl up in bed immediately, but he knows he has things to do.
Though he’d sent most of his belongings already for the crew to unpack, he still has some more delicate clothes and decoration that he hadn’t trusted anyone to handle properly.
And he has to sort out where one finds food in Romania.